Of Lilacs and Lilies
by SuperKateB
Summary: She thought she was just a fifteen-year-old girl, making due with what she had left. But when the dreams begin and a letter from her father comes, she's forced to wonder - is she more than that?


"Are you going to be home for dinner?"  
  
Silence echoed through the apartment, at least as much as silence could ever echo, and she   
  
frowned into the telephone receiver, listening idly to the familiar voice rattling in her ear. Her fingers  
  
twisted in the cord as she eagerly digested another excuse, not completely understanding the long   
  
technical terms the woman at the other end of the line listed off. "So, then, it's a late night tonight?  
  
Oh, no, I understand completely, oka-san, it's just - yes, oka-san. I know. You don't have to tell me   
  
again. Ja ne, then."  
  
She waited patiently for a click at the other end before she set the phone back in its cradle,  
  
not surprised that the noise was short in coming. Behind the covered windows, the sun lazily descended  
  
towards the horizon, a red-orange backdrop stretching across the Tokyo skyline. Her first night home   
  
alone, she spent her time watching the sunset, her eyes widening in child-like wonder as the sky went  
  
from yellow to pink to indigo and, one by one, the city lights flickered on until the horizon was aglow  
  
with the exciting yellows and golds of a million light bulbs. As a girl, her evenings had been filled  
  
with family dinners and hours-long go marathons with her father, distracting her from the natural beauty  
  
just behind the living room curtains. And then, the world had crashed around her ankles and she had been  
  
home alone, seeing the sunset for the first time.  
  
But the sunsets now just seemed to resemble one another, over and over again, and now more than  
  
two thousand sunsets had past.  
  
Five years. She took one more long glance at the phone, stoic but still frowning, staring at it  
  
with one hand poised to pick it up, lost in the foolish hope that it would ring and her mother would   
  
announce that her work could wait.  
  
It never rang.  
  
She sighed and shook her head, slippers scuffing against the wooden floor as she started for the  
  
kitchen nook.  
  
Dinner for one, again.  
  
======================  
  
"Of Lilacs and Lilies"  
  
A Sailor Moon Fanfiction  
  
Written by Kate "SuperKate" Butler  
  
======================  
  
They sat together but apart, seated at opposite ends of a dining room table built for eight,   
  
forks and knives clinking against china as they dined simply on steaks and potatoes her mother had brought  
  
home from the American restaurant down the block. The meal was, supposedly, in celebration of the girl's  
  
birthday the weekend before, and she found that she did not have the heart to tell her mother she   
  
was not in the mood for celebration.  
  
Especially not when it was their first meal together in three weeks.  
  
"Oh, I forgot to tell you!" her mother chirped with a half-smile, setting down her silverware  
  
to wipe her mouth with the corner of her napkin idly. Tall, long-haired, and very pretty, she passed for  
  
a model more than a lawyer, her low-cut burgundy top shimmering every time she breathed. "You'll never   
  
guess who called me today!"  
  
The child refused to glance up from her meal, focusing steadily on her half-eaten mass of meat  
  
and her butter-drowned potato. "Who?" she questioned carefully, spearing a tiny bit of potato with the  
  
prong of her fork as she spoke.   
  
"Your father!" Blue eyes snapped up from the meal, wide and eager as the adult laughed, her long  
  
waves of pale blue curls bobbing as she reached once again for her silverware. "Can you imagine? After all  
  
the trouble I went through to get custody, he has the gall to ask if he can have a visitation! What an   
  
idiot." She waggled her fork at her daughter, steak juices dribbling on the white lace tablecloth as   
  
she spoke. "This is why I tell you to stay away from men, my little sea sprite. They only amount to   
  
trouble in the end."  
  
The girl pursed her lips, shifting her weight and squirming slightly, watching carefully as her  
  
mother turned back to her meal. "What did you tell him?" she questioned softly, her fork hovering over  
  
her plate, still with the potato hanging from it. "Is he coming for a visit?"  
  
Her mother's dark eyes glanced up through thick bangs, and a shapely eyebrow arched. "Of course  
  
not!" she retorted, her vocal tone lingering somewhere on the border between annoyed and surprised.   
  
She set down her fork and leaned slowly back in her chair, eyeing her child dubiously. "I thought we   
  
discussed this when Mama and Papa divorced, sweetie. Your father is a liar, a cheat, and a terrible   
  
influence for a girl your age. He robbed me of my youth and innocence when I was at the university, and  
  
I don't want him putting my little sea sprite on the same path. Not when you have so much potential." She  
  
frowned slightly. "And put your fork down if you're not going to eat that potato. You look like a slack-  
  
jawed commoner, dripping butter everywhere like that."  
  
She flushed slightly and set the fork down on the edge of her plate, shifting her focus to wiping  
  
her fingers on the napkin in her lap. "I - I'm sorry, oka-san," she apologized quietly, wringing the   
  
cloth between her hands, the nervous motion hidden safely beneath the edge of the table. "It's just been  
  
so long since I've seen him, I was hoping - "  
  
"I know, dear, but you have to realize what a very bad man he is." Her mother paused, smiling   
  
somewhat sadly at her only child. "The one positive that came out of the miserable marriage I had with   
  
your father was you, and I want to hold onto you as long as I can." She rose slowly to her feet, her high-  
  
heeled shoes clicking against the dark wooden floor of their dining room. "Have you practiced yet today?"  
  
The girl nodded slightly, setting her napkin on the table beside her plate just as her mother had  
  
taught her years earlier. "Yes, oka-san," she replied, still staring at the mostly-untouched meal and   
  
the fork balancing on the edge of her plate. "I practiced for three hours after school. May I be excused  
  
to go watch television?"  
  
Picking up her child's plate and utensils, the adult's eyes lowered slightly, forming a stern   
  
gaze. "No, you may not," she scolded, the seriousness of her words slightly lessened when she reached to   
  
bop her daughter playfully on the nose. "You need to study. Your high school entrance exams are only in   
  
a few months, and there's a new private academy I want you to apply to, and for that, you will need   
  
high marks."  
  
She fidgeted, frowning and ducking away from a second nose-bop. "But - "  
  
"No buts!" Her mother had already turned her back and started walking away as she interrupted the  
  
child's stubborn, near-pouting response. "You keep that up, young lady, and you'll be lucky if you're  
  
allowed to watch television at all in the next month. Oka-san knows what's best for you, and you should  
  
listen if you ever want to be a famous musician like you always say you want to."  
  
The temptation to protest again by screaming 'but!' and throwing a fifteen-year-old's temper-  
  
tantrum in the middle of the dining room burned in the back of her throat like bile, and she gulped hard  
  
to fight it away. "You're right, of course," she sighed, sliding out of her chair. "Thank you for the  
  
meal. I'll be going to my room, now."  
  
Her mother, already in the kitchen, did not hear. Or perhaps she did hear, and just failed to  
  
answer. She realized she could not be sure if the woman heard her or not.  
  
This time, or ever.  
  
===  
  
"Where are you going to high school?"  
  
"I don't quite know yet. You?"  
  
"Eh, probably the public school. My parents both went there."  
  
"Ne ne, where do you think our class prima donna will go to school?"  
  
Usually, their jeering and sneering behind her back went wholly unnoticed, but this time the   
  
question caused her to pause, and she glanced up from her book. The sun flitted through the budding   
  
springtime trees, casting cheerful patches of light upon the grass, the strands of green glowing golden   
  
in the light. Across the school courtyard, three girls - all dressed in the same white-and-turquoise   
  
junior high uniform - sat in a circle, munching happily on their home-packed lunches. She leaned against  
  
the tree trunk as she listened to them chatting, her lips pursed into a small, pink line, considering.  
  
"I heard rumor she was applying to that new prep school. You know, the one across town from here?"  
  
"Really? That place is supposed to be AMAZINGLY expensive!"  
  
"Pfft. Didn't you know? She's Hatachi Haru's daughter."  
  
"The famous lawyer?! You're kidding!"  
  
"Nope. She just keeps her father's last name. I heard he ran off with one of the people Hatachi-  
  
san defended, and she was so angry that she divorced him on the spot! Left him penniless."  
  
"Oh, yeah! The famous cellist! I remember my parents talking about that - it was the celebrity   
  
divorce of the century! Though I heard he ran off with a viola player... Isn't he playing out of Shanghai,  
  
now?"  
  
Snapping shut her book, the evesdropper stood and started down the sidewalk at a quick pace,  
  
trying not to listen to their gossip. Why did her mother matter? Or her name, for that matter? She   
  
remained an individual, a human being...even if she was alone.  
  
She was always alone.  
  
  
  
===  
  
The only light in the room shone from the sliver under the doorway, a pale stripe of white   
  
against a backdrop of what, in her half-awake stupor, could have very well been a vat of thick black   
  
paint.  
  
"I thought you had a daughter, Haru-chan."  
  
Glasses tinkled together and soft music echoed through the apartment, sounds she had failed to   
  
notice until now. His voice boomed despite the fact she knew he was attempting to be quiet, a deep,   
  
rich voice that, painted, would be a dark brown. Nothing like her father's voice, she thought with an   
  
inward sneer. That timbre was indigo like the night sky, filled with twinkling silver stars as he laughed.  
  
"Oh, I do. She's in bed."  
  
"So early on a Friday night? And before her mother came home from work? Goodness. She must be   
  
amazingly mature, to make herself dinner and put herself to bed so early."  
  
Mature? She rolled over, balling up in the comforter and hugging her one memory of her father -   
  
an abused cream-colored teddy bear - close to her chest. Yes, she could be called mature, but only if her  
  
mother could be called the opposite.  
  
"She is an amazing girl. So unlike her deadbeat father. She plays the violin and wants to be a   
  
musician. I figure that dream will only last a few more years."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"She should find a good, solid, respectable line of work. I hope she'll follow her mother's   
  
footsteps and go into law, of course, but I don't know if she has the knack for it. Not all of us can  
  
survive this dog-eat-dog world, you know!"  
  
His laughter felt like thunder, rattling the walls and windowpanes, and she shivered, pulling  
  
her sheets closer. Law? Law meant nothing. Not when adults can ignore their children for their work,  
  
or come home late and bring a man whose voice howled and hissed like a monsoon. Gooseflesh rose on her  
  
arms, and she resisted the urge to cry out for her father. He would not hear her. Ever.  
  
"Still, if she does well at the national contest next month, I may allow her to entertain her   
  
dreams a bit longer. She's constantly being asked to play at art galleries and benefit gatherings, and  
  
it is a good source of income. Makes me glad I married her father, because I did get her out of the deal."  
  
"Do you love her?"  
  
A question she dreaded having answered.  
  
"Love her? Of course! All my life, I wanted a daughter to raise, so I could teach her about the  
  
things I love and make her understand how wonderful the world is. Of course, her father tarnished her a   
  
bit before he ran away with his 'artistic consultant,' filling her with these silly dreams of being a  
  
violinist and traveling the world. But those are just that - dreams. They'll never be realities, and -   
  
Oooh! Shiso-kun! Mind your manners!"  
  
"I would rather mind you..."  
  
She groaned and buried her head between her pillows, squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as she  
  
could and trying to distract herself by humming a lullaby that her father had taught her, years earlier.  
  
Usually, the beautiful, slow melody soothed her to sleep, even when her mother brought her male friends  
  
over for the evening.  
  
Tonight, the only thing left to soothe her to sleep was the feeling of warm, wet tears running  
  
down her cheeks and her own labored breathing.   
  
And tonight, the dreams began.  
  
===  
  
She stood in a field of wildflowers - mostly lilacs and lilies, all of them pale purple - as the  
  
wind wiped around her, pulling at her hair and face, plastering the long, aquamarine skirts of her gown  
  
against her legs as she watched him approach. He wore mostly white, his tuxedo and cape accented vaguely  
  
with aquamarine, his eyes hidden by a white ballroom mask. The satin of her gown fluttered around her as  
  
she stared at him, wide-eyed.  
  
"Umi no hime-chan," he addressed her with a low bow, his cape motionless even as the winds   
  
whirled around them, his dark hair perfectly combed in place. "I welcome you."  
  
Blinking, she brushed her wind-tossed tresses from her face and stepped forward, staring at the   
  
stranger, her hands trembling as she watched him rise slowly from his bow, his face stern and even. "Umi  
  
no..." She shook her head. "Who are you? Why am I here?"  
  
"You must find your partner, hime-chan," he told her, stepping back for each step she took   
  
forward, his cape and hair forever unmoving, as though painted onto the blue-skied background. Her   
  
ankle twisted and she stumbled, falling to her knees, the flowers bending around her as they were pushed   
  
and pulled by the winds. "She will not wait long. Beware the Death Busters, and know your wand. It is the  
  
only way..."  
  
Suddenly, the field disappeared, and she found herself standing on pavement, staring up at an  
  
abandoned, gray city. Darkness loomed on the horizon, an artificial night, appearing as though a giant   
  
paintbrush had been pulled across the sky and replaced the blue hues of day with the darkest black of  
  
night. But the sun shone red in the distance, blazing crimson against the black, the tone-on-tone   
  
quality of it almost painful to her eyes. She raised a hand to shield from the light, and -   
  
"Hime-chan!" cried a voice, and she whirled on her heel without thinking, finding herself standing  
  
once again before the man from before, his white clothes a stark contrast to the reds and blacks that   
  
surrounded her. "Hime-chan, this is the world you face if you do not find your partner! You must find her!  
  
Find - "  
  
And suddenly, the sun disappeared, and everything turned dark.  
  
===  
  
"I'm very disappointed in you!" her mother scolded, hands on her shapely hips as they stood just  
  
outside the headmaster's office, her soprano lilt of a voice bouncing off the cinderblock walls of the   
  
school hallway. A few girls, late in finishing their after-school activities, paused to glance at the  
  
woman, and then snickered once they noticed their schoolmate. "What in the world possessed you to paint  
  
such a thing?!"  
  
Her cheeks burned as she studied the white floor tiles and her aqua-dyed school slippers, silent  
  
under her mother's harsh, relentless glower. Her lack of willingness to defend herself annoyed her mother,  
  
who tossed her long ponytail of hair and shook her head. "And to think I'm always bragging to my friends  
  
what a mature, intelligent daughter I have!" she scoffed, raising her voice even more as she turned her  
  
back to the teenager and began to pace across the hallway. "I can understand painting the Tokyo skyline,  
  
sure, but painting an enormous picture of Tokyo being DESTROYED?! What were you THINKING?"   
  
Fingernails dug into her pale cheeks as her mother grasped her chin and pulled it sharply   
  
upward, forcing her to make eye contact. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" she snapped, and the girl  
  
reluctantly did, her aqua blue eyes meeting dark navy as she tried, desperately, to swallow both her  
  
tears and her pride. "Now, you listen to me. I want you to go into the art department, apologize to your  
  
teacher, and find a place to put that god-awful 'work of art' you painted today. Then, you are going   
  
home, eating dinner, and getting into bed. No television, no studying, nothing."  
  
She frowned, trying to wiggle away and finding herself trapped by her mother's piercing nails.  
  
"I understand," she insisted, stumbling back as the adult released her grip. "And I'm sorry. I just...  
  
I felt compelled to paint it."  
  
Sighing, her mother shook her head for a moment and shrugged her slender shoulders. "I should  
  
have broken you of this artistic mumbo-jumbo long ago," she muttered half-heartedly, glancing down at her  
  
watch as she spoke. "But we'll have to worry about that later. I have a dinner meeting with a new client  
  
tonight." Her dark eyes lowered a second time, and she waggled a finger at her daughter. "You get rid  
  
of that painting and go straight to bed, you understand? If I catch you doing ANYTHING else - even   
  
practicing - you'll be lucky if you EVER see that violin of yours again."  
  
"I understand," she nodded solemnly, not moving from her spot on the tile floor even as she   
  
watched her swivel-hipped mother trot down the hallway and out the main exit of the school. "But do you?"  
  
Her voice echoed in the hallway after her, and, though she knew the question fell on deaf ears,  
  
she hoped that someday, her mother would understand, too.  
  
===  
  
The letter arrived by certified mail exactly one month after her fifteenth birthday. The   
  
stationary boasted the letterhead of the Shanghai Symphony Orchestra, but otherwise the note's simplicity  
  
was almost disappointing; even the black hand lettering across the page qualified as completely lack-  
  
luster.  
  
The words, however, caused her heart to pound and her head to spin, and even as she read it that  
  
night by the light of her reading lamp in her bedroom, her hands trembled with excitement and pure,   
  
undeniable joy.  
  
"Water lily," she could hear his voice recite in her head, as though he sat beside her on the bed,  
  
reading the letter aloud for her, "it has been five years since I have seen your face or touched your   
  
hair, and I miss you. Your mother told me when I called her a few weeks ago to tell her I would be in   
  
town for a concert that you had no desire to see me, but I cannot believe that is true. I will be waiting  
  
in the small ramen restaurant across the street from the concert hall at noon on Sunday, if you would   
  
like to come by to say hello. I hope you do. I miss you."  
  
Despite her closed bedroom door and the soft whisper of the wind against her closed curtain, she  
  
could hear the door to the apartment scrape open and her mother's soft laughter float through the air  
  
until it slid under her door and echoed in her ears. Frantically, she stuffed the letter into its envelope  
  
and crammed it beneath her pillow, flicking off the light before balling up in her covers and facing the   
  
wall, closing her eyes tightly. What would her mother say if she saw the letter? She could only imagine  
  
the trouble she would be in, not to mention -  
  
The door squeaked open, and pale light poured into the room as she scrunched her eyes further  
  
shut, praying that her mother would not come any further into the room and notice the fact that she was  
  
still wearing her school clothes, or that she trembled in fear of being caught with every exhale.   
  
"I told you she was asleep, Shiso-kun."   
  
She refused to open her eyes even as the footfalls softly thumped down the hallway, but not   
  
because she feared discovery by her mother. No, in a few minutes her mother would be too busy entertaining  
  
her guest to so much as remember she even had a daughter, let alone worry if said daughter slept   
  
peacefully or not.  
  
She refused to open her eyes because she could see the signature burned into the back of her   
  
eyelids, floating around with the red and blue remnant flashes from reading so close to her lamp.  
  
And that signature remained there, imprinted in her mind even as she drifted off to sleep,   
  
leaving her to whisper it into the darkness.  
  
"...papa..."  
  
===  
  
"You must not forget the wand!"  
  
The sun burned red as buildings exploded into columns of ash and debris, appearing to be charred  
  
without ever lighting on fire. She tripped over her satin skirts, the aquamarine folds dirty as she   
  
ran through the city streets, turning back briefly to watch the destruction, looking for reassurance that  
  
she remained ahead of the explosions.  
  
They grew closer with every breath.  
  
"You are the umi no hime-chan! You must know your wand and find your partner! Know and fear the  
  
Death Busters! Save the world!"  
  
The toe of her shoe caught on the hem of her gown and she stumbled, falling hard onto the  
  
pavement with a startled cry. She kicked with all her might, trying to free herself from the fabric   
  
and climb back to her feet, but her high heeled shoes remained caught, leaving her to struggle helplessly.  
  
His voice, warm and still urgent, echoed even above the sound of buildings being destroyed.  
  
"Find your wand! Find your partner! Save - "  
  
She sat straight up in bed, gasping for breath, her brow wet with sweat. Her hair felt like   
  
spider webs against her cheeks and she struggled to push the strands away, surprised to feel her hands  
  
trembling as she did so. "A dream," she panted, fumbling to grasp her watch off the bedside table and   
  
press the light button on the side. 3:15 a.m. "It was only a dream..."  
  
She fell back against her pillows, staring dully at the ceiling, listening to the silence that  
  
surrounded her, silence like a dark blanket, like velvet, locking her in and keeping her apart from  
  
everything that lay beyond.  
  
The voices in the living room were muffled, but she could hear them through the closed door. She  
  
could always hear them.  
  
"Shiso-kun, I don't know if that's a good idea..."  
  
"C'mon, Haru! She'll love New York, I promise you. It's a rare and wonderful opportunity to go  
  
into international law, and I want you to share this joy with me. I don't want to leave you behind."  
  
She closed her eyes, feeling the tears rushing towards the surface, her heart pounding in her   
  
chest as his voice faded away, cuing her mother to respond. She could see the soft curls of blue falling  
  
around pale cheeks, and imagine the red lips, slightly parted, as she tried to think of an answer.  
  
"Please, oka-san," she pleaded softly, her voice a whisper lost on the wind beyond her   
  
curtains as she smeared away her tears with the corner of her comforter. "Think of - "  
  
"I'd love to come to New York, and I'm sure she will too."  
  
" - me..."  
  
===  
  
"Stay back!"  
  
"Watch out!"  
  
"Monster! A terrible monster!"  
  
She stumbled backwards as the throng of people pushed around her, running in the direction from  
  
whence she had come. The bouquet of lilacs she had purchased at a corner floral shop fell to her feet,  
  
and she gasped as they were trampled, ignored and forgotten by the strangers running down the sidewalk.  
  
A woman's purse slammed hard into her shoulder, and she yelped; a man's hand caught accidentally on the  
  
hem of her sundress and she pulled away from him, wide-eyed.  
  
The bright noon sun shone merrily over the city of Tokyo, warming a bright spring day. That sun  
  
had greeted the girl that morning as she slid from bed, her fingers wrapped around the Shanghai Orchestra  
  
stationary resolutely, knuckles white from clenching it through the night. She showered, dressed, and   
  
dried her hair, ignoring the note her mother had left for her on the kitchen table. It no doubt requested  
  
that she practice extra-hard for her recital that coming week, and reminded her that her exams would  
  
be administered at the end of August. It was, after all, the same note that greeted her every Sunday  
  
morning.  
  
A few yen had purchased a bus ticket to the Tokyo Symphony Orchestra's enormous concert hall;   
  
a few yen more, and she became the proud owner of a bouquet of sweet-smelling lilacs. The scent, along  
  
with the aquamarine color of her sundress, reminded her vaguely of the dream a week earlier, and of the  
  
mysterious, dark-haired man in the white tuxedo. Straightening the headband in her hair, and taking one  
  
last, determined breath, she stepped out of the floral shop and started towards the ramen restaurant.  
  
The throng of people cleared and she rushed forward, finding herself exactly where she wanted to   
  
be - in front of the ramen restaurant at noon on Sunday. But she faced not a charming, crooked smile and  
  
a father's open arms.  
  
Instead, she stood at the foot of a black, formless creature with red, glinting eyes and wide,   
  
gnashing teeth.   
  
Screaming, she took a long step back, nearly tripping over her own two feet as the being before   
  
her roared, saliva gleaming on its bright white teeth and wetting the insides of a blood-red mouth.   
  
It lunged, reaching out for her, and she dove nimbly out of the way just as it crashed into the very   
  
space she had been, smashing into the front window of the restaurant with full force. The Plexiglas  
  
wobbled even as she pulled away from the building and rushed to where the creature had first been, nearly  
  
slipping in the grimy residue it left behind. "What in the world is this?"   
  
The monster turned to glance at her, red eyes lowered to slits as it turned slowly to face her.  
  
Her hands trembled as she dug into her pockets, searching for something - anything - to distract it from  
  
attacking her. Her fingers groped her spare change and the stub for her return ticket to the apartment,  
  
useless bits and pieces of her life that meant nothing to the creature standing before her.   
  
And then, she heard it. That familiar, navy-colored voice from her dream, reaching out for her  
  
somewhere, booming across the city streets.  
  
"You are the umi no hime-chan, the pretty solider Sailor Neptune! Believe!"  
  
Her fist closed around something hard within her pocket, something surprising and unusual, and   
  
she pulled it out, wide-eyed. In the palm of her hand laid a stick of some sort, only about six inches  
  
long and fashioned of a cool metal. Topping the stick was a lavender orb of some sort, with a golden   
  
charm sparkling on it.   
  
"Save the world!"  
  
Words, unfamiliar and yet familiar all the same, poured from her mouth before she could stop  
  
them, and suddenly she found herself standing not on the street but in the field of flowers, the lilacs  
  
and lilies standing tall around her as she stared into space, face-to-face with the white-garbed  
  
man again.  
  
He bowed again, wordless, and then the street returned, the stick - or, as she realized too   
  
late, her wand - gone from her now-gloved hand.  
  
Roaring again, the creature dove towards her, its great mouth gaping open, a bottomless abyss  
  
of salvia and teeth. Her feet slipped on the ooze that coated the sidewalk but she managed to stay   
  
standing, her mouth forming words that she did not recognize, her eyes pressing closed in fear as she  
  
felt the creature's hot breath upon her.  
  
But the hot breath turned to a cool, almost oceanic breeze, and she peeked out to see the monster  
  
gone, leaving only a man lying in a pool of water.  
  
A man with dark hair and a white, aqua-accented tuxedo...and with a face she recognized.  
  
"PAPA!" she gasped, stumbling over herself as she rushed to kneel beside him, her bared   
  
knees scraping against the sidewalk as she pulled his head and chest into her lap, surprised to see that  
  
he still breathed. "Papa, say something!"  
  
Dark eyes opened slowly, almost as though it took great effort, and a weak, crooked smile lit  
  
up the man's pale face. "M-michiru...? Is that my little water lily?"  
  
Tears stung as they coursed down her face, and the girl nodded weakly, staring down at him even  
  
as he raised a hand to push her messy tresses from her forehead. "I'm so glad I could see you again," he  
  
breathed, his hand smoothing across her cheek before falling away, onto his stomach, his chest rising  
  
and falling in a shallow cadence as he gazed up at her. "I... I knew this would happen, and yet... It is  
  
hard to say goodbye..."  
  
"No!" she pleaded, pulling his shoulders close to her body and hugging him tightly, the tears   
  
flowing more freely than before, running down her cheeks in rivulets. "Goodbye?! You can't say goodbye,  
  
you just got here!"  
  
"I'm only here because I needed to be, sweetie," he responded, his comment broken by a coughing  
  
that wracked his whole body. She loosened her grip on his shoulders but refused to let go, shaking as  
  
she watched him struggle to regain control over his body. "You needed...to find your destiny. And now,  
  
you have. I'm...not needed...anymore..."  
  
She moved to speak again, to protest, to yell and scream and throw a fit, but he reached up and  
  
placed to fingers on her lips, shaking his head slowly. "No buts," he croaked, his voice hardly audible,  
  
every breath rattling in his chest and causing him to shudder. "Just be who you are.... And who you   
  
want to be... Haru, well... She'll...understand...someday..."  
  
His fingers fell away, and eyes lulled shut. Sirens cried out in the distance, echoing across the  
  
city, but she heard nothing but her own crying, and felt nothing but the cold pavement against her legs  
  
and the breaking of her heart.  
  
===  
  
Noon passed to afternoon and into evening when she finally had the heart to climb the stairs to   
  
the apartment and open the door, surprised to find it unlocked. The trampled lilacs, wet with water and  
  
blood, hung limply in her hand as she quietly pressed the door shut behind her and slipped off her   
  
shoes, stepping into the hallway dully.  
  
"Michiru, where have you been?!" exclaimed her mother, shock and worry mingling with anger in   
  
her voice to turn a pink lilt to bright red as the girl shed her sweat-damp jacket and hung it on the   
  
hooks that lined the hallway. "You had me worried sick! All these reports about a monster, and then   
  
the news that the man who was killed by the monster being your father! Michiru!" Her mother's yelling  
  
fell deafly on her ears as she elbowed past the woman in the business suit, staring straight ahead as   
  
she turned the corner and continued down the hall. "Michiru! Answer me, dammit!"  
  
The door to her room stood open, perhaps left like that in haste, and she dropped the flowers on  
  
her bed as she crossed to the closet and pulled out a small duffel bag, one that she had taken to   
  
orchestra camp a few years earlier. Carefully, she placed two sets of her school uniform in the bag,   
  
following them with a pair of khaki pants and her favorite knit t-shirt. She added pajamas and socks,   
  
underwear and bras, toping it off with her hairbrush and teddy bear. The pockets of the bag were quickly  
  
stuffed with the essential items from her nightstand drawer - deodorant, an address book, the information  
  
on the bank account where her money from recitals and other paid performances had been deposited. A   
  
length of yarn from a half-finished knitting project fastened the damp, ruined flowers to the handles. She   
  
zipped shut all the little pouches and pockets carefully and then slung the strap over her shoulder  
  
and picked up her violin case, taking her schoolbag in the other hand a moment later, as though it occurred  
  
to her as an afterthought.  
  
Blue eyes widened as she realized her mother blocked the doorway, hands on her shapely hips as  
  
she glared down at the child. "Where do you think you're going?" she demanded roughly, a frown creasing  
  
not only her lips but her entire face as her daughter stared up at her, face blank. "LOOK at you! Your  
  
dress is filthy, and how did you skin your knees?" She rolled her dark eyes and shook her head, an   
  
expression of pure exasperation crossing her face. "Come now, Michiru. Put your bags down. We'll have  
  
a cup of tea and - "  
  
"No." The word flowed from her lips naturally, just as the words had on the sidewalk, hours   
  
before, when she had raised her wand to the sky and believed in the power of the dreams that had haunted  
  
her for the past weeks. "It doesn't matter how I scrapped my knees or why my dress is filthy, and I can  
  
tell you right now that I am NOT going to New York." Her mother's expression turned to surprise, and   
  
the girl tossed her head indignantly. "I am not going to become a lawyer. I am not going to stop painting  
  
and playing my violin."  
  
Chuckling, the lawyer shot her daughter an amused but also annoyed glance, her half-smile fading  
  
quickly when the stony resolve on the girl's face failed to dissipate. "You are fifteen years old,   
  
Michiru," she warned, her jaw setting firmly as she spoke. "You can't go out on your own while your mother  
  
is alive and well. Now set down those bags." She remained standing, school bag, duffel, and violin case  
  
wavering only when she took a step forward, and her mother raised a finger to shake it towards the girl.  
  
"SET DOWN THOSE BAGS!" she commanded, her voice cracking slightly as she yelled at the girl. "You are  
  
my daughter, and you have to listen to me!"  
  
"Then I'll sue," responded the child, deadpan, and her mother's eyes widened as she glanced down  
  
at her. Two more steps moved her until she stood only inches from her mother's face, their noses almost  
  
even. She did not honestly remember ever growing to be as tall as the adult; it must have occurred during  
  
the days and nights when her mother had been too busy to come home for dinner. "I am sure that not even  
  
the great Hatachi Haru can argue her way out of the true story of how she left her daughter home alone   
  
most nights, starting when the girl was only ten."  
  
Her mother moved to speak, or perhaps yell again, but then stopped and, instead, stepped out of  
  
the doorway, gesturing with one arm towards the empty hallway. "You go ahead, then, Michiru," she offered,  
  
the forced smile plastered on her face appearing to be more of a sneer under the dim hallway lighting.  
  
"I'll be interested see if you can make it on your own, without your mother around to help you."  
  
From halfway down the hall, the girl turned around, her blue eyes cold and face completely   
  
stoic as she permitted herself one last glance towards her mother. Her father had said that, someday,  
  
she would understand. Could that possibly be true, or had he simply said that to give her a reason to  
  
keep existing, to keep pressing on?   
  
Then, sighing, she turned away and started striding down the wooden floor again, her wand heavy  
  
against her hip from within her sundress pocket. "On my own or living with you," she replied quietly,  
  
hardly loud enough for the woman behind her to hear, "still consists of making dinner for one."  
  
===  
  
The wind rushed around her body as she watched the small funeral from atop a nearby apartment  
  
building, her hair tossed and twirled by the gusts and her short skirt plastered against her long legs.  
  
The scabs on her knees itched slightly, now, but she ignored the nagging need to rake her fingernails  
  
across them, watching with a heavy heart as the small cluster of men and women below took turns paying  
  
homage to the closed coffin, the nearby tree bending beneath the might of the wind as they took turns  
  
saying their final goodbyes.  
  
One by one, though, the visitors left the cemetery, climbing into their cars after sharing hugs  
  
or sturdy handshakes, few even looking back towards the uncovered grave or the coffin set on its metal   
  
risers above it. Soon, the site stood empty save for two jumpsuit-clad men who, she had no doubt, would   
  
soon drop the coffin into its hole and cover it, forgetting that the inhabitant of that place had ever  
  
been a living, breathing man.  
  
She glanced down at the bouquet of flowers in her arms, her eyes miraculously free of tears as  
  
she took in the sweet scent of the lilacs and lilies she had bought at the small flower shop across the  
  
street from the symphony orchestra's concert hall. The scent floated across the wind, dancing over her  
  
nostrils before fading away, swept across the air by the breeze.  
  
The flowers from the week before hung over her bed in her small apartment, drying a shade of   
  
ruddy purple that reminded her not of blood on lilacs but rather of the sound of her father's voice.   
  
Carefully, she unwrapped the paper from around the bouquet, setting it down on the roof of the building  
  
as she worked to free the flowers from their bound position. Her apartment remained filled with the scent  
  
of lilacs even as she went to school each day, and the fragrance dancing on air as she practiced her   
  
violin or worked on her paintings.  
  
But a heaviness laid over her day-to-day proceedings, a heaviness she knew would never truly   
  
fade away. She had a duty to fulfill, a destiny dependent on her actions, and her actions alone. The   
  
dreams still haunted her nights, filled with explosions and a red-black sun, and she knew, deep down,  
  
that he had been right all along. Somewhere, beyond the cemetery and the street lights, waited her   
  
partner, and only with the discovery of that one person could she begin on her fate-prescribed mission to  
  
save the world.   
  
Her arms hugged the flowers close to her chest as she hopped up onto the thick cement barricade  
  
that encircled the roof of the building. Her life, restored, was now beginning, and her mission was now  
  
laid out before her, waiting for her to complete it.  
  
As the umi no hime-chan from long before.  
  
As the elegant new-wave solider, Sailor Neptune.  
  
And, as simply Kaioh Michiru.  
  
Lilacs and lilies danced on the wind, free and light as air above the city of Tokyo as she turned  
  
her back and started across the roof, the sun casting not the shadow of a fifteen-year-old girl, but   
  
of a princess, a solider, and a woman.  
  
===  
  
Fin.  
  
Author's Notes: Kaioh Michiru has always been my favorite Sailor Moon character, but I have always lamented  
  
the lack of really good fics about her past. Greenbeans' "Distant" has long been my favorite Haruka fic,   
  
and the reason I loved it so much was due to the fact that it discussed the life of Haruka before she was  
  
a sailor senshi. I've always wanted to see something like that with Michiru, but much to my dismay, I've  
  
never found something that fits my criteria for a pre-senshi Michiru fic.  
  
Add to this that canon never really explains how Michiru became a senshi in the first place, and you have a  
  
total enigma answerable only by fanfiction.  
  
Do I consider this anywhere near as good as "Distant?" NEVER. "Distant" is fiction gold, and this barely  
  
qualifies as fiction bronze. But whatever color it may or may not be, I am proud of this story. So be   
  
gentle. ^_^;  
  
Timeline issues, since I know someone will ask: In SMS (anime-style), Haruka and Michiru meet for the first  
  
time when Michiru is obviously still in junior high school, since they meet before they attend Mugen Gauken  
  
together. This means that Michiru became a senshi even further in the past than that, so I thought middle  
  
of her last year of junior high would be the most logical time for her to have become a senshi. That makes  
  
her just barely fifteen years old. Yup, she's a youngin'.  
  
Also: did anyone think it was Ami at first? *snickers* I purposely put off letting her identity be too   
  
wholly revealed, if only because it's fun to write that way. Also, her father plays the cello half because   
  
it's a fun instrument and half because it helps to explain that one manga picture of Michiru with a cello.  
  
The picture she painted? See the Haruka-meets-Michiru episode - it's the giant painting in the boat. I don't  
  
know how it got there, but it's meant to be the same painting. Or the older brother painting to the one in  
  
that episode. You decide.  
  
Like Michiru-centered fics? *PLUG!* Read Starsea's "Like the Wind." She writes Michiru like you wouldn't  
  
BELIEVE. I'm still jealous.  
  
Special thanks to Yumeko, my wonderful beta-chan who takes very good care of everything you see me write.  
  
Without her, my fics would be grammatical train-wrecks and plot-hole swiss cheese. ^_^;  
  
July 21, 2003.  
  
9:50 p.m. 


End file.
